(This story was published in Vol. II of Quotidien Magazine)
Two hours after meeting her, I was attempting to detangle her hair, which had
grown matted while waiting to cross the border.
In fact, there were two of them. Two perfect strangers with dark curly locks sitting
at my dining room table devouring leftover cookies and mandarin oranges at 3:30
in the morning. Not a day earlier, they had left the confines of a U.S. Border and
Protection center to fly with an unknown escort to a city they had never seen, in
a country they had only just stepped foot into, in hopes of another temporary stay
along their journey to live with family, go to school, and secure a safer future. They
were casualties of Central America’s vast and grisly history of gang violence, natural
disasters, and political upheaval.
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